


Way Back Home (211 Miles)

by SaharaSquared



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: During Canon, Gen, Minor Canonical Character(s), Off-screen Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 19:21:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6296863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaharaSquared/pseuds/SaharaSquared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stu and Bonnie Hopps' lives are changing - the partnership with Gideon Grey, the pride and joy of Bunnyburrow out patrolling the street for tickets. One Tuesday night it starts changing drastically. There's life 211 miles outside of Zootopia, and it's about to get thornier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If you've got nothing nice to say ...

**Author's Note:**

> Excited to write about life in Bunnyburrow. It draws from multiple sources including the Art of Zootopia book, articles by the creative staff, and real farm life.

The farmhouse was large. Enormous by city standards, but it was swarming with school-age children most of the day. Space was precious when there were battles to re-enact or toys to throw on the roof, so ... most of the time. Still, the second kitchen - Bonnie's kitchen - was quiet late at night. There was "fine" china only the mistress of the house and the older children were allowed to touch. It needed washing.

After putting most of the children to bed, it was nice to have peace and quiet. The chandelier was down low, the better Precious Moments dolls twinkling in the display case. The chunky walnut dining set caught a dull shine from a candle by the toaster. The Bluetooth speaker in the far corner droned NPR Classic on low. An aromatherapy disk wafted 'spring linen'. Her pink shirt and comfortable grey sweatpants completed a perfect quiet night in.

It was a room of presents. Most of them were from grown children. They all worked steady jobs and came home to houses full of gifts too. If there was one thing their family did, it was share. Most all the Hopps were still in the tri-county area and stopped by for Sunday dinner.

She glanced at the phone. It would ring when one child called back, but she looked all the same.

A familiar thudding cadence came from the front room. Thump-tha-thump- _thump-thump-thumpthumpthump_ \- thud. Only a VERY irate rabbit would thump while walking and taking off their jacket, and she'd married one.

"I swear to Pete, that's the last time I play Cribbage!" yelled a voice.

Bonnie tried hard to not roll her eyes. Her husband was dutiful, kind, and excellent at field cultivation. Her mother always said never rolling your eyes made you "smart, pretty and wise."

Then again, her mother died playing bingo "at a dangerous level." She dared a quick quarter-roll. "Did Danny cheat again?"

"No, it was Greyson," Stu huffed, throwing his wellies into the dirty bin. "And he didn't cheat, he's just too honeysuckle good, Bon."

A tea cup wiggled out of her palm. It went _plib_ in the water and cracked. She could blame it on the soap matting her finger-fur, but that was the least of it. Stu only dropped the 'h' word when in a real fit.

Bonnie chided, " _Stuart_!"

Stu scraped his brow with a Deere hat and sagged into the chair. "I'm sorry, I just ... ugh, tonight was my night!"

She wrung her paws with a tea-towel and patted his shoulder. "Hon, every Tuesday is 'the' night, then it isn’t."

"Yeah, but you shoulda seen this hand I had," he muttered, clearly worked up a boil. His nose twitched like a tiger in a catnip dispensary. "But he just knocks me sideways with this poker face!"

"This was _cribbage_ ,” Bonnie drolled.

"Oh, yeah, but Greyson! He has that half-lidded look all the time, like he's up to something."

The paw at his shoulder gripped harder, "Just because he's a fox-"

"No, not all foxes, just Greyson. Getting all the road contracts," Stu waved his finger, "he's always ahead of us!"

Greyson Grey (III) had put a pauper's earnings toward an asphalt finisher just in time to pave the better part of a sub-division ten years ago. He had since become "the" road man in the county with eight full-time workers. He recently took the family on vacation for two weeks. Bonnie darted her eyes to the front room. The shoes in the dirty bin were a long way from a Tahitian getaway.

"So he got you in one game, so what?" she redirected, shuffling to the fridge to get two large sweet teas. To his credit Stu waited patiently for her to sit down at the table. They liked to do that after a long day.

"They were three games," he huffed as he wrenched the cap, "He got a 29 and just busted me on the other two games. In one, I got a nineteen."

"That's not so bad! A ten-point spread isn't awful."

Stu took a long drink and graveled, "Nineteen means 0 in the game sometimes."

"Yikes," Bonnie piped. Eager for a segue, she read the tea lid aloud, "Today will bring great surprises."

Stu muttered darkly, "Yeah, GREAT surprises." He read his with a snort, "Kismet and luck are just excuses for the lazy."

The smirk he made said "... Like Greyson."

"Don't get so comfortable bad-mouthing Greyson!”, Bonnie rounded. Her tea bottle hit the table hard. She wagged her finger,  “He's Gideon's daddy. You're going to let something slip and then what?"

The farmer shook his round head and stared intently at the clock. Silence.

She redoubled, "I mean it! You pop off about his family he'll feel real sore on himself again. You know those two."

There was a doubtful huff. He was in a mood, but so help him! It had to be out. She let the bomb fall, "Gideon might QUIT, Stu."

His eyes widened. "I ... I don't- I don't want that."

Rabbits are fast. The Hopps were especially quick to remember promises.

* * *

 

One Hopps family promise was a long time in coming. In March, she'd heard all the reasons not to give Gideon first choice of berries or carrots. He was a no-good no-talent shiner with holes in his socks and a cotton-head business plan.  
  
Bonnie had been conflicted. Stu never said "Fox" and meant it "that way", and she never said it at all, but she wasn't without reservations. She remembered dabbing Neosporin on claw marks and praying Judy didn't get scars. Bygones were bygones, but ...

One bright April hadn't started well for them. Gideon had visited at the stand, coming by "just to see the produce again." At length, Gideon worried aloud about the truck and the business loan (to his credit, Stu didn't bristle - it was _capitalism_ ) and how excited he was to "start something fun" (Yes, new opportunities all around ... ). Not understanding a brush-off, Gideon folded like a natty rug on a stool.

Trying to break the ice, Bonnie lent some blueberries. Gideon took three in one gulp. They talked about the "promotional" price for the Carrot Days coming up soon. That was all well and good. Stu glanced down the road, hoping for a better customer to come along.

What spurned him they’d never know, but Gideon laid it out. How it felt to be a no-good no-talent shiner. How hard it was to get into the business management program. The community college didn't hold 'greatest need' grants for dropouts and the bank didn't like their chances. If it weren't for a teacher from high school "extending Junior Achievement" the business plan wouldn't be more than a scribble.

As Gideon regaled them, Stu's ears hung low.

Gideon was worn. There just wasn't enough left in him to be cunning. He said in earnest, "I gotta try. You know? Animals try everywhere else at what they're good at, and I can make a pretty good pie."

Stu was quiet as they tried the blueberry pie Gideon "just happened" to bring. It was a work of art. Gideon was elusive about the 'family recipe' - "four hunnert years ago" it probably contained _milk_  - but he dialed in something magical. A dense bramble of berry, juicy enough to keep you going but not enough to dribble and stain fur. A crackle crust, but a soft top. It dealt just the right powdery finish.

Gideon didn't sport a sly grin as they murmured contentedly. It was broad and toothy. Stu and Bonnie didn't notice the tears until his coveralls were wet.

It wasn't Bonnie who asked, "What's wrong, Gideon?"

She DID ask, "Is it the honeysuckle?"

"Nah," Gideon hoarsed, embarrassed, "I'm glad y’all like the pie. Not many animals like me, but they sure love the pie."

"We love it," Stu yelped, quickly offering his kerchief. "And I- I like you!"

Bonnie was quick to agree, ducking under the counter for some Kleenex. God knew what Stu had used the hankie for.

"You do, Mister-and-Missus Hopps?" Gideon hushed, wide-eyed.

Surprising everyone (himself included), Stu nodded. "I promise."

That promise led to a partnership. It had lasted three months, a fridge dying, a graduation ceremony, and scores of berries. Countless referrals were directed to "t' best farm stand in the worl'", owned by Mister-and-Missus Hopps of Bunnyburrow." It brought smiling faces and real money. There was plenty reason to like Gideon - now.

But they knew in April there was reason to love Gideon Grey. He was a trier. He got up at dawn and convinced folks around town he meant business. Bonnie knew Stu was always quick to ask about "the" trier, Judy, after Gideon came up in conversation.

For Bonnie's money, he was a bit of an orphan, too. None of the Greys visited the shop in town, but Gideon always found time to stop at the stand. He'd ask how the stand was going, or when the (bunny!) day camp needed some hand pies. They often set out a fox-sized bowl for Sunday dinner. He'd been so glad to visit while "the whole family flew off to Ta-hee-tee." Gideon claimed he just happened to have 20 cakes to share, but ...

Maybe Gideon wasn't slow. Maybe he knew what he'd find if he caught up with everyone else.

* * *

Back in “the now,” Stu was well and truly caught up.  _By his petard,_ a crueler person would say.

Stu turned to his wife of 25 years and hushed, "I wouldn't want him to quit. He’s a good kid."

"He is," Bonnie smoothed. Bonnie was sorry to play dirty pool with that comment, but she knew her husband. She offered an olive branch, "Glad you had time out with the other guys at least."

Stu waved his hat in a manner suggesting Danny HAD cheated tonight. The phone rang. Bonnie counted her blessings.

"She's calling back!", Bonny cheered as she vaulted to its cradle. They took up a pose. The room was dim, but Judy would understand. She was probably heading to bed. 2 AM there, so maybe a long night writing tickets! They expected to see a darling 24-year-old exhausted but content after a hard day's work.

The call finally resolved in a wash of pixelation. Bonnie nearly dropped her phone.


	2. Conflicting Signals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late-night phone call is a preamble to many things changing in Zootopia.

Their daughter looked exhausted and wet, and frail. She stood in pitch dark. A strange blanket tented on her slender frame. Light passed over her face - red and blue. Deep voices were shouting. Her eyes were fixed on something in the middle distance.

"Hey, guys!", Judy whispered tiredly, "Just calling before the press starts interviewing us all. I might not be able to call again for a while. You should ... Do you guys get ZNN?”

Stu nodded dumbly. Judy cheered, “Great! It’ll be on ZNN. They just pulled up."

Before they could ask if she had all four limbs, someone mumbled off-screen. Judy’s face fell. The call ended with, “Oh, the phone is evidence, too. I’ll be calling from Nick’s phone. Love you both!"

The call ended, defaulting to Bonnie’s lock screen - Judy at graduation day. Turning on ZNN and waiting was preferable to panicking. In fairness, walking briskly into the “men’s den” so as to not wake the children was not panicking. Sitting in wide chairs with another set of cold teas was not panicking either.

They just felt _inclined_ to panic. It was in their biology, probably.

Bonnie braved, "It was nice of her to tell us."

“Hope this Nick guy has Caller ID,” Stu worried as he used the remote, “I don’t want to screen him thinking it’s a telemarketer.”  
  
Small talk was a relief. “I’m sure he does. Everyone does now.”  
  
The television woke from sleep just in time to see of a handsome black panther clawing at plexiglass. Failing this, he snarled and lurched on all fours. His eyes were barely a slit. More examples played. A polar bear. An otter. They all raged.  
  
“ _Savage_ ,” Bonnie gasped.  
  
It was something out of a nightmare. Stu took her hand.  
  
The reporter gave the ‘what we know’ - false imprisonment at the old asylum in the Meadowlands. The rest of the coverage was a parade of talking heads discussing the “implications of this late-breaking news.” They tried their best to carry the conversation, but all had the same haunted expression.

Two hours went by like this, ducking in and out of the kitchen for tea or soda. This was  _the_ news, 211 miles away, and there was no getting around watching it. Stu put the volume down low to keep from waking the children - or giving them night terrors.

Around 10 PM, the camera crew caught a long shot of a mountain of a bear lead away in chains and a muzzle. This one didn’t swipe or growl. It stared blankly at the spotlight.  
  
“Good God,” Stu whispered, eyes locked on the screen, “They don’t even remember who they are.”  
  
Bonnie’s phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown caller. Taking her hand from Stu's, she opened it: _This is Nick’s phone sorry can’t type so great right now press event at 10am tomorrow love you both xoxo._ So much for Caller ID.  
  
She relayed this. Stu nodded, “We’ll skip the co-op meeting.”  
  
The video kept rolling, a grainy bootleg from the police sweep. It was all night vision and unblinking snarling faces. Bonnie couldn’t avoid the question any longer, “How is she tied up in all this?”  
  
“Maybe they needed animals to divert traffic while they’re getting these folks to the hospital,” Stu turned and gave her a reassuring smile, “Maybe she’s cataloging evidence. She’s good at sorting.”  
  
Bonnie’s eyes darted to the screen and widened. She balked, “Or she could be arresting the Mayor.”  
  
On video, the Mayor struggled against several bruisers. The audio was scrubbed for commentary, but there was their little girl, no higher than Lionheart’s knee. She kept time with the gaggle, her body ramrod straight. She was bellowing. He visibly jolted when her finger stabbed the air.  
  
“I don’t believe it,” Stu shook his head in disbelief, “She’s giving him the business.”  
  
The phone buzzed again. Bonnie waited until the Mayor was wedged into the limo (again) and took a chance on opening the text.  
  
She startled. It was a selfie - A bright-red fox wrapped in a trauma blanket huddled next to Judy. Both looked miserable. He sported bruises. There was a gurney in the background and some steel plate flooring, so an ambulance? Very angular. Very unwelcome.  
  
Judy was fast asleep, nestled against a defibrillator box. The fox’s expression was drag-out tired. The text attached read: _Judy’s taking a little nap. She’ll call when she’s up. - NW_ Bonnie thought. _That was nice of him._

In truth, Bonnie's first reaction was _A_ _Fox is looming over my sleeping helpless daughter._ She shook her head; no, no, foxes don't go raiding hen houses any more. Maybe it was biology - she saw fluffy red fur late at night and just ... didn't think. Maybe it was all these vicious faces on the TV keying her up. She shuddered. Her sweatpants and sweatshirt didn't feel warm enough.  
  
“Oh," Bonnie said evenly, "Nick is a fox."  
  
Stu's eyebrows jumped, but he recovered easily. "Interesting! Partner in the force, you think?"

Bonnie was a bit jealous. Stu hardly blinked, even after seeing all that mess on television. Come to think of it, Stu had seen a lot of Gideon that week.  
  
"I don't know, he just sent a photo, no other word from them," Bonnie half-lamented, handing the phone, "He's probably going to sleep soon too."  
  
Stu chuckled, "That's one Hell of a shiner."  
  
"Stuart!" Bonnie cried.

Stu protested, "I meant he's got a black eye, Bon."  
  
Bonnie relented and swigged her tea. Thankfully ZNN had switched to another talking-head program. No more frightening muzzled mug shots. The same worried expressions - except James Carville. She never could quite make out eagle expressions, and the volume was still down low. Maybe he was just angry about another liberal Mayor out of control.  
  
"Don't worry, sweetheart," Stu chuckled, handing back the phone, "She picked out a real Ranger Scout."  
  
"I wasn't worr-" Bonnie huffed, but stopped, "Okay, I was worried. She's with a strange man all alone in the dark. I'm a little nervous."  
  
"Jude's got good instinct," Stu extended, drinking the last of his tea, "And I mean he _must_ have been a Ranger Scout. They don't let in predators with even a little temper." He paused, "Though come to think of it, Dan Beaverwill bit me like the dickens, and he was in Mystery rank."

"And Nick is a Scout because ... ?" she pondered, squinting at the phone.  
  
"He did a Rustler's Knot, one of those real under-over-sideways deals," Stu explained, "Only Scouts bother to teach it anymore."  
  
Bonnie combed the picture again. Sure enough, a warm blanket swaddled Judy and no-name space blanket draped on Nick. The twisted knot was just right to cape and cover a rabbit who rolled in her sleep. She could almost feel how well it hugged across the shoulders.

Bonnie was a little warmer now.

"Welp, time for bed," Stu groaned as he extracted himself from the great chair. He plodded by her, picking up her glass in one motion. He planted a kiss on the forehead. It was their thing.  
  
"Don't stay up too late," he yawned, "It's just not worth it. Not Hardball, anyway. This is probably all drugs."

Bonnie nodded and blew a kiss. She glanced at the TV. A photo of a well-dressed otter with his darling young family took up the screen. They all stood before a tidy flower shop, beaming with pride on opening day.  _Finally, an animal-interest story._

The feed cut to a video of an otter viciously mauling a hospital pillow. His shirt was the intact but seldom little else. Bonnie recognized it easily from the file photo. Another case of "savage fever", as the ticker was now calling it. The headline ran "Florist Turned Feral."

Bonnie felt much, much colder.


End file.
